


swept the very bravest off their feet

by aphelant



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Halloween, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelant/pseuds/aphelant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur loves Eames but he likes to think it's a secret. Here be: domesticity and cuddles and pets!</p><p><em>Halloween is Eames's favourite holiday. It's the one day of the year when there are thousands of people wandering the city doing what Eames does best – becoming someone else – and it fills him with utter glee.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	swept the very bravest off their feet

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to abbylee for audiencing!
> 
> Title from 'Jack's Lament', The Nightmare Before Christmas.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/243220.html?thread=18511124#t18511124).

The cat scrabbles away from the door when Arthur opens it, rushing past the dog trundling up with his tongue lolling in greeting. Escher, never one to show her face when Arthur comes home from a trip (her way of punishing him for leaving her behind, or possibly for leaving her behind _with Eames_ ), trots with purpose around the corner. All Arthur sees is the hook of her tail as she disappears from sight before he gets a chance to check whether she's been inflicted with the same holiday cheer as the poor pet at his feet.

“Hey buddy,” Arthur says, crouching down and scratching behind the cat ears perched ahead of the real, floppy dog ones. “Is Eames home?”

Maximus tilts his head, perks his ears up and down, and dances back and forth across the mat. He hops up on his hind legs in an attempt to paw and nose at Arthur's pockets, but being a toy poodle he doesn't make it that high. Laughing, Arthur pulls out the baggie of dog treats he picked up at the bakery on the way home, dropping a pumpkin shaped one on the floor for him. Max snatches it up in his mouth and scoots between Arthur's legs with it, never looking back.

“Fine, I'll look for him myself then,” Arthur calls at Max's rear as it disappears around the corner, much the same as the cat had. Shaking his head, Arthur hangs his coat, pushing aside the literal skeleton in the closet to make room.

Halloween is Eames's favourite holiday. It's the one day of the year when there are thousands of people wandering the city doing what Eames does best – becoming someone else – and it fills him with utter glee. The flat fills with decorations and candy, baking and pumpkins, and Eames organizes at least three costumes for the various parties and events he drags Arthur along to. Arthur actually has to fight for Eames's attention during Halloween, and if it weren't for his stubborn tenacity and his willingness to participate in bizarre roleplay scenarios, like Death and the reluctant soul he's sent to reap, or Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin, he wouldn't get laid for the entire month.

(“Did you see them?” Eames asked last year, rubber-necking at the group they just passed and slowing down to gape. Arthur caught Eames by the elbow and forcibly dragged him along.

“Our reservations are in less than fifteen minutes --”

“That was Eleven! And Amy and Rory and a _bloody Tardis_ let's go back and talk to them!”

“-- and _you_ insisted we walk from the Tube. So we're on a very tight schedule and _no_ , no we are not going to go talk to them. Dinner, Eames, remember? Reservations.” Arthur checks his watch. “In less than ten minutes, now, actually. We're going to be so fucking late.”

“But darling, those are my people.” Eames tugged at Arthur's scarf and used the smile that got Arthur to do all sorts of things for him, like running out for lube in the middle of the night, and allowing floral shirts to hang next to his Zegna.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “We're in London. Everyone here is your people. And none of them trump me.”

“No,” Eames said, soft and pleased, “of course not.” He sighed, a bit wistful, and said, “That's alright, next year I'll think of something even better than that, and we can show all of London how brilliant I am. You'll see.”

“I'm not dressing up.”

“Ariadne and I will show all of London how brilliant I am.”

“That's better,” Arthur smirked, and found Eames's gloved hand with his own.)

This year Arthur's been out of country for the weeks leading up to the holiday, working a boring corporate dream security job with Cobb in New York. And every time he's asked Eames how the decorating is going and what costume he's decided on, Eames has chastised him for trying to ruin the surprise and changed the subject to something mundane, like the organization system that Arthur implemented in the kitchen and how now Eames can never find anything in the entire flat.

The light is on in the kitchen, but when Arthur pokes his head in all he finds are pumpkin innards and a plate of chocolate cupcakes smeared in orange icing. He rolls up his sleeves and fills the dishwasher with the dirty bowls and spatulas of Eames's holiday domesticity, then sets it to run. The bedroom is similarly empty, as is the office, but there's a warm candle glow in the living room and that's where he finds Eames, asleep on the couch.

Escher stares balefully at Arthur for a moment, like she's judging him for taking so long to find them, before turning back to the window and her tail swishing perusal of the street below. Arthur pulls his phone from his pocket and takes a picture of her, the black cat sitting next to the jack-o-lantern, both glowing eerily from the candle light reflecting from the window. Escher's ears twitch at the sound of the fake shutter, but she pretends that she's alone in the room.

Maximus has found Arthur's feet again and he pants up at Arthur from his perch atop Arthur's toes. Arthur empties his pockets of their accumulation – keys, business card, two Werther's wrappers and seven cents change in two currencies – and dumps it and his phone onto the nearest flat surface before scooping the dog up and cradling him to his chest.

“Eames,” Arthur says, rolling Eames forward onto his side and tucking Max into the curve of his stomach. “Eames?”

“Mm? 'm up?”

There's pumpkin goop and seeds stuck to the hair behind Eames's ear. Arthur touches it and finds it dry. “You've been keeping busy, I see.”

Eames rubs his head against Arthur's hand, who obliges him by running his fingers through Eames's hair. “Made cupcakes,” Eames murmurs. His eyes slit open for a brief moment before falling closed again. “Candy apples for the kidlets. Pumpkin?”

Arthur smiles down at him, and he knows it's sickeningly fond, but it's okay because Eames isn't looking. “Are you calling me that, or are you referring to the jack-o-lantern?” Arthur teases.

“Mmmm both,” Eames sighs. He runs a friendly but uncoordinated hand blindly up Arthur's side, and runs into his armpit unexpectedly. “Hm.”

Rolling his eyes Arthur steadies Eames by the shoulder, orders him not to move, and wedges himself into the space between Eames and the couch back. He curls his free arm around Eames's waist and holds him close. To make sure Eames won't squish the dog or roll off the couch, obviously.

“You're home,” Eames tells him, like it's a status he thought he'd imagined and is surprised to find it to be true.

Arthur buries his smile in the back of Eames's neck where it smells of warm skin, coconut shampoo and their laundry soap. “I am.”

“Good,” Eames replies, absently patting the back of Arthur's hand. “You need to try on your costume. Gonna love it, promise.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, tangling his feet with Eames's and closing his eyes. He feels Max tentatively lick his fingers before insinuating himself between the cupped palm of his hand and Eames's chest. “I'm sure I will.”


End file.
